by Markus Heitz
Nudin raised his left hand and killed two of the älfar with searing bolts of light. He restricted himself to stunning the fourth älf with the intention of interrogating him.
Stooping down, he examined their faces. Their elegant features reminded him of their cousins, the elves of landur and the Golden Plains, whom Turgur admired for their flawless beauty. His gaze settled on the amulets fastened around their necks.
Protective charms, he muttered in astonishment, taking one of the crystals in his hands. The mystery of how the älfar had crossed the girdle was solved. The Perished Land has found a way of sending its most lethal emissaries through the magic barrier. I must tell the council of this.
He disarmed the stunned älf with a curse, then roused him from his faint. The creature’s eyes opened, revealing fathomless pits. In the bright sunlight, Nudin could see that he possessed neither pupils nor irises. The magus held up the amulet. “Who gave you this?”
The älf returned his stare.
Nudin invoked a truth spell to coax out his secrets, but the creature spoke in an unintelligible tongue. Like elvish, the language was melodious and elegant, but with a sinister, darker tone.
The learned magus was none the wiser. He stood up, took a few steps back, and incinerated the creature in a towering blaze. Its three companions and the bögnil met a similar fate.
“It won’t be long before the Perished Land renews its attack,” he muttered fretfully.
Still, he thought to himself, there’s no need to spoil the celebrations. The news of the amulets can wait until breakfast. After exhorting the sentries to be doubly vigilant, he retired to his tent.
* * *
That night Nudin was visited by the strangest of dreams.
Fog settled around his tent, pushing through the canvas and swirling around his bed. Tiny streaks of black, silver, and red rippled through the gloomy mist as it snaked through the bedposts, encircled the mattress, and contracted warily around the sleeping man. At last it was so close that Nudin appeared to be hovering on the glimmering cloud.
A wisp of vapor, long and spindly as a finger, slid toward him and touched his hand. The magus awoke at the soft, velvety touch.
“Don’t be afraid,” a voice whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Nudin sat up slowly and examined the flickering mist. “Afraid? My name is Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty, not Nudin the Timorous,” he informed it calmly. “Who are you?”
“The soul of the Perished Land,” came the whispered reply. “It is time for you to make your choice.”
“What choice? The Perished Land kills its enemies. Is that what you mean by choice?”
The mist rose a few inches and wrapped itself around Nudin’s feet, stealing slowly along his legs. It felt warm and soft. “You can choose to rescue Girdlegard — or join the other magi in hastening its doom. That is your choice.”
“The magi are committed to rescuing Girdlegard. You are its doom,” the magus said firmly.
“My power can protect these lands and the races that inhabit them — men, elves, and dwarves,” the mist replied. “I want to secure Girdlegard against the coming threat, but your magic won’t let me.” The mist arranged itself into a human face, opening and closing its mouth in time with the voice. “The tide of evil will soon be upon us, streaming through the Stone Gateway or surging over the western ranges to swamp Girdlegard and wash me away. The belt of mountains will stay standing, but everything within them will be destroyed.”
“Why should I believe you? What kind of soul nourishes itself on the souls of the dead?”
“The greatest of souls,” the voice purred. “I do not feed on them; I gather them to me for their protection. When the threat has passed, I shall release them to their gods. For now, while Girdlegard is in danger, I need their power.”
“Be gone,” Nudin commanded. “I have heard enough of your lies.”
The mist began to dissolve away. “Listen to my proposal,” it whispered. “I need your body. Lend it to me for a while and acquire my knowledge while I borrow your form. You will learn things beyond your wildest dreams, things whose existence exceeds the power of your imagination. I know charms devised by illustrious magi in faraway lands; I know nature, life, and the stars; I know mankind in ways that you will never glean from books. With my knowledge, you will be the wisest, most powerful magus in the history of Girdlegard and your name will be Nudin the All-Knowing.” The particles melted into nothingness. “The All-Knowing…”
The All-Knowing… Nudin woke with a start, sitting upright in bed and glancing frantically round the tent. Unable to discover anything unusual, he told himself off for being foolish and settled back to sleep.
At breakfast the next morning he sat in silence, his mind on other matters, while his colleagues discussed their projects and plans.
He said nothing of his peculiar dream and omitted to mention his encounter with the älfar, keeping the news of the amulets to himself.
* * *
The messenger arrived just as Nudin was preparing for bed. He read the letter and froze.
Lesinteïl, the elven kingdom of the north, was in the hands of the älfar. They had breached the magic girdle and overwhelmed the unsuspecting elves.
According to the letter, the first settlements had been taken in a matter of orbits. The älfar had overrun the kingdom before the elves had had time to raise a proper army, and the outcome of the battle had never been in doubt.
Now the northern pestilence was creeping through the exalted lands of Lesinteïl, destroying the blossoming beauty that centuries of nurture had elevated to its highest form.
Nudin hurled the roll of parchment to the floor and clambered into bed. In less than forty-eight hours, the council would meet to erect a girdle around the fallen kingdom. Already the älfar were using their newly conquered land to send war bands into Gauragar, Idoslane, and Urgon to extend the boundaries of the Perished Land.
Nudin felt a stab of conscience. Unlike the other magi, he had a good idea of how the älfar had breached the girdle. He tried telling himself that nothing could have stopped them, even if the council had known.
That’s not quite true, his conscience contradicted him. If you’d shown them the amulet, they would have studied the inscription and erected a barrier impervious to its power. By saying nothing, you allowed the älfar to advance.
“But I…”
Lesinteïl fell because of you. You broke faith with the council and betrayed the elves.
Pulling the covers over his head, Nudin tried to silence his troublesome conscience by falling asleep.
But sleep brought no delivery. That night the soul of the Perished Land cajoled its way into his dreams and the whispering mist paid another visit to his bed.
“Have you made up your mind? Has Nudin the All-Knowing resolved to rescue Girdlegard?”
“You breached the barrier and took Lesinteïl. How did you do it?”
“Nudin the All-Knowing wouldn’t need to ask.” The mist slipped beneath the covers, where it soon became pleasantly warm. “The first elven kingdom is mine. landur will be next, and the magi can do nothing to stop me. My protective power will extend deep into the south of Girdlegard, but I’m running out of time.”
“Protective power? You’re seizing the lands by force!”
“Only for a heartbeat in the continuum of time. Remember, Nudin, no one relinquishes freedom gladly. Rulers and races are like children and I am their mother. I protect them from harm.” The swirling mist became a human face. “Imagine a small boy whose mother won’t let him play with a dog. She picks him up because she knows that the dog is dangerous, but he resents her intervention. He kicks, screams, and struggles against her, not realizing that the dog would bite him as soon as it had the chance.” The voice paused for a moment. “The mother chases the dog away, then sets her son down and lets him play as he pleases. The boy is too young to understand, but in time he’ll see that she did the right thing. His resentment will turn
to gratitude because she helped him in spite of his protests.”
The analogy made perfect sense. Nudin’s conscience warned him against the silver-tongued whisperer, but he shut out his inner voice. “You’ve explained it to me, so why can’t you explain it to the rulers of the other realms and kingdoms? And why ally yourself with beasts? Orcs and älfar are feared by men and loathed by elves and dwarves: Why choose them to carry out your will?”
The mist swathed the bed, covering every inch of his body and shrouding his eyes. It felt like the caress of a thousand soothing hands. “Girdlegard is in danger. I didn’t have time to choose my allies; I had to take what I could find. My creatures can be counted on to bring me rapid victories. It’s the best way of protecting Girdlegard from the threat.”
“And this threat, have you fought it before?” Nudin asked sleepily. He was struggling to focus.
“More times than I can remember, but the enemy is powerful, swift, and wily. Victory has always eluded me. We need time to prepare ourselves properly if we are to win.” The caressing intensified, the whispers multiplying and echoing through Nudin’s mind. “I need your body, Nudin. Lend me your form and I will give you my knowledge, a knowledge greater than any possessed by mortal man. Remember, when our enemy has been vanquished, your body will be your own. You will always have the power to drive me out. You must make your decision, Nudin.”
“What if your knowledge isn’t as spectacular as you claim?”
“Watch. I will show you.” The mist contracted around his temples, pulsing furiously with streaks of black, silver, and red.
The soul of the Perished Land gave Nudin’s dreaming consciousness a glimpse of the marvels that would soon be his.
Strange runes danced before the awestruck magus and unintelligible languages filled his ears. Images flashed through his mind — snatches of spells and curses, strange and formidable landscapes in the Outer Lands, and faraway cities and palaces more splendid than anything known to men, elves, or dwarves.
He drank in the wonderful sights and sounds, thirsted for more, and was rewarded. Plunged into an endless stream of images, he bathed in knowledge and imbibed its wisdom until the vision was brought to a halt.
“Don’t stop,” Nudin said greedily. “Show me more.”
“Will you lend me your body?”
“Let me —”
Runes glimmered in the air while distant voices reverberated in unknown tongues. The sun dimmed over a breathtakingly beautiful meadow and the landscape dissolved away. Stacks of books swayed dangerously and learned volumes of spells and incantations moldered, leaves perishing and turning to dust.
“Will Nudin the All-Knowing save Girdlegard?” the mist whispered. “Will he help a mother protect her child?” The magus’s defenses crumbled.
“I will help you,” he whispered hoarsely, peering into the mist. By letting the spirit in, he would be able to control it, or so he told himself. If I find out it’s lying about the threat to Girdlegard, I’ll force it to give back our lands and send its servants over the Northern Pass. Whatever happens, I’ll get the promised knowledge and Girdlegard will win. “What must I do?”
The mist glimmered excitedly. “Nothing. Lie still and don’t stop me. Open your mouth, empty your mind, and think of nothing. You’ll know when I’m in.”
Nudin lay back and did as instructed.
Three tendrils of mist snaked toward him and slipped between his lips. It felt as if they were reconnoitering the territory in preparation for an invasion.
What happened next took Nudin by surprise. Suddenly, the mist contracted and forced itself inside his mouth. The pressure was so great that his jaws seemed to break apart and his ears were filled with the sound of cracking. His hands dug into his bedclothes, ripping the sheets.
Once inside him, the mist pushed onward with no regard for his body. It expanded along his gullet, cutting off his airway and expelling the breath from his lungs. His veins throbbed frantically, his blood racing at four times its usual speed.
Red fluid spurted from his nose and eyes and he realized with horror that he was losing blood from every pore. His lifeblood was seeping from his body, streaming over his skin and staining his sheets.
He sat up, gurgling unintelligibly, and tried to reach the door. The floor rushed toward him.
He had no control over his legs or any other part of his body; even his mind refused to obey him. Babbling, laughing, and choking, he screamed in pain and terror, crawling and writhing through his chamber and leaving a glistening crimson trail.
He could feel the mist pushing through every vessel in his body, pounding his flesh, foraging in his guts, torturing his manhood, and never pausing for a moment on its agonizing path.
Then at once the suffering was over.
Nudin lay on the cold marble floor, struggling to regain his breath. Slowly, his dazed senses cleared, and his thoughts and perceptions became extraordinarily acute.
He clambered to his feet. Blood was caked to his skin and the smell of excrement clung to his robes. Repelled by the filth, he hurried along the corridors and stood beneath a fountain to wash away the dirt. The cold water revived his spirits, leaving him refreshed and alert.
And now for a test… He tried to recall the spells he had heard. The words and gestures returned to him effortlessly, but more remarkably, he knew their purpose and the correct inflection of every syllable: It was all imprinted on his mind.
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t his mind that was furnishing the information, but he brushed that thought aside.
With a rush of exhilaration he thought of all the wonders he had seen, and at once they returned to him, only this time he could hear, taste, and smell them. The beautiful meadow had its own distinctive aroma, which he recognized instantly. He remembered the melodies sung by the birds, and he knew that Pajula, for that was the name of the spot, was located beyond the mountains of his homeland in a place that no one in Girdlegard had heard of, let alone mapped.
Chuckling delightedly, he let the water splash over his skin.
Well, are you satisfied? asked a voice inside his head. Have I kept my side of the bargain?
“Yes,” he said aloud, then corrected himself. Yes, your knowledge is everything you promised it would be. He decided on a further test. I want you to leave.
At once he felt an unpleasant burning sensation, then a sudden chill and a feeling of abject loneliness and abandonment. The mist was preparing to depart. Nudin shuddered at the thought of experiencing such agony a second time.
Stop! he commanded. You can stay. I wanted to be sure I could trust you to go.
I entrusted you with my knowledge and memory; you have to trust me. We two are one.
“We two are one,” the magus murmured. He clambered out of the fountain to look for a mirror. There was nothing peculiar about his reflection: He looked the same as before, although the shirt he took from his wardrobe seemed tighter than usual and the sleeves were a little too short.
The soul of the Perished Land shared his satisfaction. I chose well, it whispered. You needn’t feel ashamed. You’re not a traitor.
So you can read my thoughts? Nudin felt embarrassed that his doubts had been detected.
We are one.
Then I should be able to read yours.
Patience! Such things take practice, and practice you shall have. For now our pact must remain a secret. Buy me some time and say nothing to the other magi until I am ready to be a mother to these lands. Begin your preparations, but work alone and be sure not to arouse their suspicions. They will accuse you of treachery, Nudin the All-Knowing, but you’re not a traitor; you’re my friend — my one and only loyal friend. The whisper faded and the magus was alone.
He strolled to the window and looked out. Sunrise was only a few hours away, but Porista was still slumbering. He turned his back to it and scanned the rows of books that lined his room.
All these folios, encyclopedias, and grimoires contained only a fraction of the know
ledge that was stored in his head. It gave him a feeling of contentment, infinite wisdom, and completeness. No sooner had a thought occurred to him than he knew everything there was to know on the matter. He could sate his lust for knowledge without the help of study, travel, experiments, or books.
A moment later he felt bored: Everything he yearned for was already accomplished. Saving Girdlegard is the last remaining challenge and nothing and no one can take it from me.
* * *
Nudin drew up a plan of action and devoted himself to his task. It seemed wrong to leave the responsibility of saving Girdlegard to his knowledgeable friend. He could picture the terrible threat bearing down on his homeland, ready to sweep over the high mountains and take Girdlegard by storm, and he knew that it was up to him to stop it.
There was no doubt that his new knowledge was useful, but incantations and formulae weren’t enough. In order to apply the magic, he needed power — more power.
He had already devised a way of acquiring it, channeling it, and making it his own. When the magi next gathered in Porista to renew the girdle, he would harness their magic energies and present his colleagues with a choice: Join him — or get out of his way.
Every waking moment was devoted to his plan. He ensconced himself in his laboratory and selected a few of his most loyal famuli to assist him; when the time was right, they would help him with whatever he had to do.
Älfar emissaries took to visiting him in secret, bringing intelligence gathered in the mountains of Urgon, the plains of Gauragar, and the highlands of Idoslane. His scouts informed him that the orcs in Tilogorn’s kingdom were prepared to fight on his behalf.
Nudin’s greatest fear was betrayal. Resistance was not to be tolerated: Anyone who challenged him was a threat to Girdlegard and a traitor to the cause. Dissenters were crushed.
Sometimes, in rare moments of doubt, he wondered whether he was in charge of his actions or whether the spirit inside him was governing his will.
